


tell your baby i'm your baby

by thermocline



Category: Polygon/McElroy Vlogs & Podcasts RPF
Genre: (a very gentle one), Anal Sex, Comfort Sex, Depression, Exhibitionism, F/F, F/M, Face-Sitting, Fandom Bicycle, Gangbang, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Polyamory, Snowed In, a lot is happening but it's all very soft!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-12 08:16:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21937489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thermocline/pseuds/thermocline
Summary: “Is everyone’s phone charged, just in case?” Clayton asks, breaking the tension. Pat checks his battery percentage and makes a wiggly hand gesture in response. Great start. Blearily, Brian thinks, at least they've got a zombie apocalypse planner.
Relationships: Brian David Gilbert/Karen Han, Brian David Gilbert/Patrick Gill, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Polycule - Relationship, Simone de Rochefort/Jenna Stoeber
Comments: 4
Kudos: 55
Collections: Polygolidays Gift Exchange 2019!





	tell your baby i'm your baby

**Author's Note:**

> if you or anyone you know is mentioned in this PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD click away and save my dignity! ok thanks!
> 
> GOSH. HI DUDE SORRY FOR TAKING FOREVER. I haven't written a gangbang before, ever in my life, so this took some finagling. I tried to wrap up several of your requested tropes, and I really hope it was successful! Heads up for some talk of mental health/depression and a r/freeuse -style scenario within the larger scene.
> 
> The title comes from "I Bet On Losing Dogs" by Mitski. Thanks to two currently redacted people for their incredible help on this. 
> 
> Enjoy! Comments are screened – just let me know if you don't want yours posted. :^)

Now that they finally have a place together, Jenna and Simone can do a lot of things: visit a frankly obscene amount of antique stores, cook Brian and Pat dinner when they stay too late working on Unraveled, send worrying snapchats of what looks like a seance, and host the annual Office Friends Holiday Cookie Swap. 

The festivities are supposed to start around 6:30, but Brian and Karen don’t leave Brian’s apartment until 6:15. Between the end of the decade, the holiday season, and Oscars season, it’s been wall-to-wall reviews and retrospectives for both of them. 

When Karen steps out of the bathroom in a cozy-looking jumpsuit (that Brian’s frankly jealous of) and a pair of velvet heels, he sits bolt upright, grinning at her. “You think this looks okay?” she asks, scrutinizing instead of being bashful, and Brian is wholly in love with her and her analytical approach to fashion. 

“You look fucking amazing, as always,” Brian answers, and relishes in the boring, married-couple feeling of Karen’s grin. 

She presses a kiss to his forehead, smooths a thumb over his brow. “Thanks. You feeling okay to go? We don’t have to stay long.”

Brian considers it. All in all, not too bad of a Friday. He’s been quarantined to an editing suite for most of the day. Clayton and Pat checked in at varying intervals, and Tara made sure he got lunch so that he doesn’t waste away in the name of the Unraveled finale. But even so, social interaction would probably be good for him right now.

“I’m cool.” Brian’s a little surprised by how honest it sounds. “If that changes, I’ll give you a hand signal or something so that you know to bail a dissociating fella out.”

“Ten-four,” Karen says, and squeezes his shoulders to make him squirm. He laughs, pushing back, and by the time they’re done tussling, Karen has him pressed to the doorframe, chin tilted up at him, smirking wickedly, and they’re another five minutes late. 

Brian leans down to kiss her. Karen cradles his jaw in her hands, kissing back fiercely for just a moment. The muscles in her back shift under Brian’s hands as she pulls away. They’ve both got pretty good self-control, but Karen’s definitely better at keeping them on time. 

“I can keep kissing you once we get there,” she offers, as if she’s compromising. It’s a damn good deal to make, in Brian’s book. Karen presses her lips chastely to the side of his neck one last time before they step away from each other. As usual, Karen’s hand in his keeps him from drifting too far away. 

“Please do,” Brian answers, lets the affection bleed through his tone. “But let me grab one of every type of cookie first.”

Karen rolls her eyes and shrugs on her coat, waiting until Brian’s got the tray of peanut butter cookies to hold the door open for him and make sure it’s locked as they leave.

-&-

By the time they make it off of the subway and start the trek to Jenna and Simone’s place, it’s snowing lightly, dusting the tops of mailboxes and the awnings of stores with a thin layer of white flakes. It’s not supposed to get  _ bad  _ until at least midnight. They’re planning to head back by eleven, just in case. 

When they knock, there’s some yelling and shuffling inside. A moment later, Pat opens the door, face red from hurrying over or from laughing or both. He looks cozy, piled in a chunky sweater. It’s nice to see him go just a little out of his day-to-day work wear. 

“Hey! There you are.” Pat’s smile lights up his entire face. He kisses Karen quickly but soundly, pressing a hand to her shoulder. “You guys make it here okay with the weather?”

“Yeah, no issues,” Karen answers, and turns back to take the tray of cookies from Brian. “I’m gonna go put this in the kitchen.

“Let me know if you need help!” Pat calls after her, making sure she gets into the kitchen without stumbling. Brian moves his weight from foot to foot. He  _ would  _ say something about feeling left out, but it’s not his party, is it? Better to just trail Karen and wallflower his way through the evening than–

“Hold on,” Pat interjects, and Brian’s train of thought completely dissipates as Pat grabs his wrist, drags him back in. They’re the only two in the entryway, but Pat’s looking at him like he’s the only other person in the room. “Brian. C’mon. You thought I was gonna let you leave without giving you a proper hello?”

“I don’t know!” Brian protests. “There are tons of people here.”

Pat traces his thumb over Brian’s wrist. He tilts his head, questioning, and Brian exhales, feels the tension sitting between his shoulders like the remnants of a bad dream. “I’m sorry,” Brian amends. “I wasn’t sure.”

“I know,” Pat says, almost a murmur. “But I wouldn’t hang you out to dry like that. C’mon, take off your coat.” 

The tiny space of the entryway gives Pat plenty of opportunities to lay soft touches across Brian’s body as he strips out of his jacket, his fleece. When Pat pulls Brian in by the hips a moment later, pressing their mouths together, Brian can feel his own pulse slow down. What a fucking Pavlovian response to have. Pat’s gentle, takes his time, carding his fingers through Brian’s hair as they kiss. This is familiar. Grounding. Necessary, if Brian’s being honest.

Working with most of your partners is, like, a forty-sixty split of pros to cons. Brian knows he always has people looking out for him, and that he overall gets to spend more time with those he loves, let alone so intimately. But it can be weird, having to tone down or change the context of his interactions depending on where he is. It’s hard to schedule  _ more  _ time with them, to get to love them like this.

Ultimately, it’s worth it, though. 

(Especially if the batshit crazy time they had at PAX this year was anything to go by, but that’s a story for another time.)

-&-

Because nothing ever goes according to plan in Brian’s life lately, the snow starts piling on rapidly while they’re engrossed in conversation and faux-bake-off judging of everyone’s offerings. By ten, there’s at least three inches of snow on the ground, and conditions are just bad enough that even a city with extensive infrastructure (better than most give it credit for) can’t handle the storm. 

The news says there’s supposed to be plows on the streets within the next two hours. Three, at most. It’ll keep snowing overnight, as expected, but it’s worse than anticipated. They’re in for about a foot, maybe eighteen inches – to which Simone quips “heyooo” and Jenna elbows her before everyone dissolves into slightly nervous laughter.

“Is everyone’s phone charged, just in case?” Clayton asks, breaking the tension. Pat checks his battery percentage and makes a wiggly hand gesture in response. Great start. Blearily, Brian thinks, they’ve at least got a zombie apocalypse planner. “Better take care of that,” he says, and Brian makes a suggestive noise that Clayton smiles good-naturedly at.

It can be hard to distinguish Clayton’s presence in a space, sometimes. The line between stoic producer and all-knowing dom is surprisingly thin, given how he manages to sound so authoritative and hesitant at the same time, in and out of the office. Brian’s learned to guess based on body language. In a room full of unhinged millennials hyping themselves up to face a snowstorm, he’s sinking into the couch, beer in hand, body spread wide like he’s inviting someone to sit on his lap.

(Brian wants to.)

The din of conversation picks up as Brian tunes back in. He glances at Clayton once more, and isn’t surprised to find him already looking back. They’re just – freaky in-tune like that, sometimes. 

“C’mere,” Clayton says. Places his hand on the seat of the couch, between his knees. Brian swallows, slides off the opposite couch and gently onto the carpet at Clayton’s feet. Clayton smiles, a lopsided, helpless kind of thing, and pulls Brain gently by the hair until he’s balanced on his knees, settled with his chin tucked against Clayton’s thigh. “Eyes open,” Clayton instructs, and Brian nods, minute, lets his breath fan hot against the fabric of Clayton’s jeans.

From here, Brian’s got a view of the awkward, singular tall window in the apartment, opening out into a partially obstructed view of the street. The glass is slightly fogged, he notices, starting to observe the way the light from the kitchen spills into the far side of the living room.

No sooner has he settled, relishing lightness and softness and the feeling of being loved, than the lights flicker for a moment before going out.

“Mother _ fucker _ ,” Jenna exclaims among the cacophony of groaning above Brian’s head. It’s a quick chorus of  _ noooo _ and  _ what now? _ and  _ well _ ; and then, as if possessed, everyone falls silent at once.

The snow falls in a blanket of silence outside. There’s no usual bustle of buses and pedestrians below. The heavy, wet hush of snowfall seem to amplify the loss.

“Are you okay if I get up to look for power sources?” Clayton whispers, stroking a hand across Brian’s cheek. 

“Yeah,” Brian answers. “I’m not under yet, you mama bear.”

“Hey,” Jenna says from across the room, defensive of her title. Brian scowls back at her. 

“Okay,” Clayton whispers in Brian’s ear, kissing the top of Brian’s head and helping Brian settle into a cross-legged seat before he gets up. “Be right back.”

Brian blinks up from his spot on the floor, vaguely registering the movement around him as everyone stands and begins searching for something with which to light the space. Simone’s rooting around the junk drawer in the kitchen, saying something about a dozen tea lights to Jenna, who’s walking back towards the coffee table to deposit those before heading down the hall to look for more candles. Pat and Karen are grabbing blankets, more for comfort than actual heat. Most balls-old buildings in New York have gas radiators. Brian wouldn’t have guessed he’d ever be thankful for outdated infrastructure, but here he is, so. Maybe it’s time to start counting his blessings.

Elsewhere in the kitchen, Clayton’s reaching for any external battery packs they’ve got. There’s a clatter, the faint sound of Jenna calling  _ How many?  _ down the hall and Clayton hollering  _ Four, one almost dead!  _ back at her. Brian squints to make out Clayton’s movement in the dim apartment. It’s getting easier, the longer his eyes have to adjust to the dark.

Simone weaves her way towards the floor behind Brian, bracing a hand on his shoulder as she crouches down. “If you want to make yourself useful,” she offers as she hands him a lighter, nodding at the array of candles on the table. “Pick three for the table,” Simone adds. Her breath is warm against his ear. “We can set four others around the living room, then stockpile the rest and decide if that’s enough.”

“Okay,” Brian breathes back, and she kisses his temple before helping him up. 

It’s better once Brian starts moving around. Less thoughts to sit inside of. Things aren’t nearly as bad as they were last week, not weighing solidly down on him as if he’s suffocating. He’s familiar with how the worst of a depressive episode feels, psychosomatically. Living under a fucking sheet of ice that muffles all incoming sensation. It’s claustrophobic. The worst part is that no matter what he does, it won’t budge.

Look, Brian’s an adult who knows, practically, how to handle his shit. He’s ticked the boxes of  _ Mental Illness Self-Monitoring.  _ Called his psychiatrist. Told his therapist and his partners he was having a hard time. Tried to take a walk and shower and eat three meals a day, every day this week. It’s great, stuff that he wouldn’t have been able to do for himself in college had something like this knocked him off his feet. But he doesn’t know how to deal with the emotions of it any better, now.

Karen comes over towards Brian, places her hands on his shoulders. “You okay?” she asks. The room feels both impossibly big and much too small. Brian isn’t quite sure what his role is in filling the space.

“Tired,” Brian whispers back. Her hands move towards his jaw, tipping his head up. “Lonely,” he adds, honest, and watches her frown, watches the gears in her head turning. Karen’s quiet for a second, studying the curve of Brian’s cheek.

“We had a plan for tonight,” she tells him, and Brian shrugs his shoulders back. He’s listening closer, now. “Pat was gonna ask you. I don’t know. I don’t want to push you, y’know?”

Brian gives her a questioning look. “What kind of thing?”

“Well,” Karen says. “First of all, I’m sorry. I know you said you didn’t really want big gestures, but I wasn’t sure if that was a feeling sad thing or a legitimate not wanting it thing, so I planned just in case.”

That doesn’t surprise Brian. Karen’s like that. She references her astrology in defense, when shit like this happens. There are worse issues to have in a relationship than one person making secret contingency plans to make their partner happy. “Okay. Understandable.”

“Second of all, it  _ is _ kind of sexy, but also super vague?” Karen trails off, fingers winding into the hair against his scalp. 

He’s already going slack-jawed. “Elaborate?”

“I just told Pat that you’d mentioned missing having some members of the polycule–” She looks pointedly at Jenna, who nods at her use of the term. “–around to lavish attention on you, and he said we should ask you about another session. With everyone fucking you.”

“Oh,” Brian exhales, and lets his eyes close. “Karen.”

“I should’ve just asked.”

“Ask now,” he urges, and hears her intake of breath, the way everyone goes silent around them to catch whatever will be said next. As pregnant pauses go, it’s probably third trimester levels of heavy silence.

“Do you want to be passed around again?” Karen asks softly. Her voice wavers in the middle of the question, as if she’s struggling to hold herself together. “Have everyone take turns fucking you? You could set the speed this time.”

“Fuck,” Brian hisses. There’s a second set of hands on his body, pressing against his back. 

“Not to sound inarticulate,” Pat’s voice comes from above him. “But we’d love to help out with the brain goblins, in any way we can.” 

Brian arches back into Pat’s touch like a cat. God, it feels so goddamn good, feeling the familiar weight of letting go seep into his bones. “That include fucking my brains out?”

Pat’s voice sounds like he’s smiling. “Only if you ask us to.” 

“If you want to stop, we drop everything,” Jenna adds from somewhere ahead of him. “No questions asked.”

There’s more silence, save for the muffled roar of the wind from the storm. Someone flicks a lighter, and another candle wick ignites with a barely-audible  _ whoosh _ . They’ll wait him out. As long as it takes. 

He needs to ask.

“Please,” Brian exhales. “I’d love that, taking all of you. Slowly, but – yes.”

“Fuck.” That sounds like Jenna, pinched and desperate. “We can do that.”

Karen steps back, untangling her grip on his hair. “Lay a blanket out,” she directs. There’s some quiet shuffling. Brian keeps his eyes closed, Pat’s hands leaving his body for a second as Pat sits on the couch next to Clayton.

Not a second later, Pat’s long fingers squeeze the meat of Brian’s shoulder again. He scoots Brian over so that he’s on his knees facing Pat. As Brian lifts his knees up, someone places a pillow under them. Another moment of pause as they settle into position. Then, Pat tilts his chin up. 

Brian’s always been good at taking cues. He lets his eyes open, and when he does, Karen’s sitting next to Pat, head leaned on his shoulder, smiling in this unfocused way at Brian. It’s like  _ she’s _ feeling joyful just from watching others help give him what he needs. Brian’s heart beats a little faster. He lets himself return the smile. His brain – can’t twist that kind of love. It just is.

“Who do you want first?” Pat asks. “One at a time?”

Brian considers it, looks around as if it’ll help him decide. Most everyone seems to be pretty quiet and a little serious, except for –

“Simone,” Brian says. She raises her eyebrows at him, amused but somehow not at all condescending. “And, uh. Up to you guys.”

“Bold choice,” Simone quips, pulling the coffee table towards her side of the room and setting her drink down on it. She slides to her knees in the space behind Brian, angling him towards Clayton once more. The way Clayton smiles back at Simone over Brian’s shoulder makes Brian shiver. “C’mere, baby,” she starts, pulling Brian’s hips backward. “I wanna open you up. You should see if Clayton needs you while I do this.”

“Okay.” Brian feels like a balloon with the last of its air pushed out. The more Simone touches him, running her hands over his back, the more he wants to be touched. 

Clayton pats his inseam, spreading his legs slightly. Both an invitation and an order. Brian rocks forward onto all fours to kiss along the inside of Clayton’s thigh, up towards his groin. As he does, Simone slides her hands down to cup Brian’s ass, feeling him up so shamelessly that Karen hums approvingly from her spectating perch.

This set of steps is familiar. Clayton’s always been consistent in what he requests from Brian, when they have the time to do this. And Brian’s always been easy for it – sucked his cock in the bathroom after a particularly trying livestream, under his desk after a long day once almost everyone save for Pat and Simone had already left. That’d been a fun evening, especially when Pat had fucking  _ figured out what was going on _ and come over to carry on a conversation with Clayton while keeping his foot on Brian’s back underneath the bottom edge of Clayton’s desk. 

(They made it up to Brian, later. Laid him out over Pat’s desk under the harsh fluorescent lighting and double-teamed him with hands and mouths until he was crying in five minutes flat. He slept like a fucking baby that night. Maybe Karen’s onto something, suggesting that everyone rock Brian’s shit again. It’s been too long since one of these scenes.)

By the time he has Clayton’s belt and zipper undone, starting to mouth at the head of his dick through his briefs, Pat and Karen are talking to everyone else above him. Brian doesn’t catch all of it, just that they’re weighing options. Apparently they need to find more candles, since two have gone out. And Jenna’s rope is packed away for “proper hosting” circumstances, so they’ll either need to let her go unpack it or improvise. 

The conversation is too much, indistinct. Brian inhales the thick, clean smell of Clayton’s skin, noses his briefs down to wrap his lips around the warm head of Clayton’s cock. Clayton swears, using one hand to pull Brian’s hair and guide him down slowly. Everyone seems to stop talking at once. The slick sound of Brian’s mouth on Clayton as he starts bobbing his head, ever-so-slowly, reverberates through the room. 

“There we go,” Simone murmurs, and shoves her hand down the back of Brian’s jeans, lubed-up fingers prying at Brian’s hole in a way that makes him fall forward, gagging on Clayton’s girth. “Don’t choke yourself, baby boy.”

Brian pulls off, moans. Simone’s long fingers brush over his ass as she repositions her hand, then tucks her thumb inside of him. It’s been over a week since either Karen or Pat fucked him, but his body yields easily, and he tries to breathe through the sensation. Clayton’s patient, but doesn’t cede Brian’s attention. Brian can feel Clayton jacking himself off, cradling Brian’s head in one giant fucking hand.

“You gonna keep me waiting?” Clayton asks. God, something about the soft rumble of his voice really does it for Brian. Which must be apparent in  _ some  _ bodily reaction, because Simone coos approvingly behind them as Brian dips his head forward again. 

This time, he tries to swallow the entire length of Clayton’s dick, and mostly succeeds. Clayton’s fucking  _ big _ , surpassed only by Jonah. Brian inhales slowly through his nose, tries to keep his calm as Clayton hits the back of his throat. He starts a rhythm, deep and dragging in a way that makes Brian breathless with need. 

Simone responds in tandem, tucking two fingers inside Brian just to take her fucking time. He doesn’t really  _ need  _ the prep, but she loves to draw it out, watch him squirm and beg. Brian tilts his ass up for better access. Clayton reaches out, curling over Brian’s head to join Simone’s hand on his hips, and Brian is going to die from being surrounded like this, maybe, but what a good way to go. 

He moans around Clayton, and Clayton squeezes his sides, rocks his hips forward to drive impossibly deeper into Brian’s mouth. He’s close, breathing short and shallow above Brian’s head. 

“Come on his face,” Simone says, like it’s fucking  _ nothing, _ and Brian whines in agreement, looking up at Clayton. The option hadn’t really occurred to him, but now that he’s thinking about it, he can’t imagine anything else.

“You are,” Clayton breathes, pulling out of Brian’s mouth and fisting his cock, hand still in Brian’s hair, “too fucking much.”

He pauses, stilling, and Brian closes his eyes instinctively, feels the tacky, warm sensation of come on his cheeks and lips and chin. Clayton’s panting, working himself through it, and Brian squeezes his thigh in thanks. Simone’s fingers are still in him, pressing insistently to make more space inside of his body. “Jesus,” Clayton mumbles, and Simone taps Brian’s lower back before pulling her fingers out and pulling him back so that he’s sitting on his heels.

Brian blinks up at Clayton, darts his tongue out to taste. Clayton smiles lopsidedly. In a second, Brian’ll be shivering, without someone else’s body heat against his partially exposed lower body, but for now, he just – soaks it in. The feeling of everyone’s eyes on him has always been both his favorite indulgence and a special kind of hell.

Luckily, if the soft noise Pat makes is any indication, Brian won’t be kept waiting for long.

“Let me get you another blanket,” Pat offers, raising Brian’s wrist to press a kiss to his skin. “Don’t want you getting cold on the floor.”

“I got it,” Jenna interjects, rising from her armchair to get something in the hall closet. It’s only a second before she’s back with a worn-out plaid comforter, tossing it towards Pat, who folds it in half to make a cushion for Brian to lay on. Jenna rummages around for a second, making a dissatisfied noise. “I’ll grab – well. I actually don’t know if we have any more candles. Feel free to keep going!”

Simone leans over, helping Brian to tug his pants off. She presses a kiss to Brian’s forehead before standing up with Clayton’s assistance. “I’ll look around with you, Jenna.”

Then, quieter, to Brian: “Be right back. Pat’s got you.”

Everyone in the room, including Brian, knows that Pat  _ does.  _ He’s the one, other than Karen, who’s known Brian the longest. Who’s been fucking Brian the longest. It’s apparent in how he starts: sliding to the floor and peeling his corduroys off in one motion, settling between Brian’s legs and draping himself over Brian’s front. He pauses for a moment, hugging Brian tightly, licking some of the jizz off of his cheek. It’s so casual, so intertwined. Brian’s simultaneously comforted and ramped up, desperate for Pat to just give it to him, fuck him raw and reckless and press into him in the way that leaves mottled bruises in secret places on his body for days afterward.

Instead, Pat finishes cleaning Brian up, kissing the taste back into his mouth. Brian sighs into the kiss, lets it deepen as Pat brings a hand down to probe at his hole. 

“You want this off?” Pat tugs at the hem of Brian’s button-down. 

“Uh,” Brian starts. He doesn’t really want to be butt-ass naked, given how cold it is, but it’s hard to get much contact with a collared shirt on. “Leave my undershirt?”

Pat grins. “Works for me,” he says, kissing Brian’s nose and cheek and ear and throat, making quick work of his buttons before helping to push the shirt off of his shoulders. He squeezes Brian’s bicep. “God, look at how fucking strong you’re getting. You look incredible.”

Brian grins. The blankets are warm when he lets himself sink back into them, and Pat’s sweater is soft against Brian’s skin where they’re sharing space. It’s just – nice, to be uncomplicated for a moment. Every type of affection Brian’s gotten recently has felt prone to criticism from whatever brain receptors latch onto it. Floating on the high of having everyone so clearly dedicated to him makes it easier to see that everyone isn’t just doing this for the bravado. They fucking  _ care _ about him.

“Please fuck me,” Brian manages, between kisses. Despite the lack of heat, he’s sweating, in all the places where Pat is pressed against him.

He doesn’t think anyone else hears it, but Pat still drops his face into Brian’s neck and groans. “I’m not gonna last very long. Sorry.”

“There’ll be other times for you to fuck me,” Brian answers, kissing Pat’s nose to give him a taste of his own medecine. Pat laughs, short and sharp. “C’mon.”

“Okay.” Pat’s voice is warm, somehow; fills Brian’s chest with a swell of emotion. When he slides home, one long push, it’s fucking delightful. The blunt pressure of his cock inside Brian just feels right. They’ve been caught up in work and other partners for the last few weeks. Overdue for a reunion. 

Brian’s pretty much surrounded – Pat’s body over his, Pat’s elbows braced on either side of Brian’s shoulders as he fucks steadily into Brian with sure, even strokes, Pat’s breath in his ear. They’re a self-sustaining universe, intertwined like this, immune to whatever’s happening around them. Distantly, Brian can hear Jenna and Simone re-entering the living room, talking lowly to one another. It feels so fucking far away.

“You gonna fill me up this time?” Brian asks, pausing to suck below Pat’s ear. “Come inside me like I’ve been asking you to?”

“Fuck,” Pat breathes. His pace quickens. It’s not just bullshit, is the thing. Brian’s been asking offhand for a while now, at mostly inopportune times. Pat’s mostly shrugged and blushed furiously when Brian asks in passing during lunch break or when they’re hanging out playing Bloodborne or when they’re  _ in a fucking stand-up meeting _ , if Brian’s really feeling bored. “Yeah, Brian.”

The crest of his hips dig into Brian’s thighs. His beard brushes Brian’s cheek as he leans down again, kissing him urgently. In a blur of bodies, Brian would know Pat’s anywhere.

“Don’t come yet.” Pat’s jackrabbiting into him, forehead pressed to Brian’s. Suddenly, the arousal in Brian’s gut is too much, all at once. Pat seems to sense the change. He shifts slightly, bringing one hand down to thumb at the fat pink head of Brian’s dick. It’s not enough to bring him to the edge, but it softens the blow, lets him ride out the heavy, turned-on feeling for a little while longer.

When Pat comes, he’s nearly silent. Brian doesn’t have to see him. He knows what Pat looks like. Pat spills hot into him, a claim, a piece of irrefutable evidence that Brian is his and Karen’s and everyone else’s, free to use and ask for and care for as they please.

For a moment, the two of them stay there. Breathing in, breathing out. Brian holds Pat’s head tight to his shoulder, scratching his fingers through the short hairs at Pat’s nape.

“So,” Jenna starts, reserved. Pat and Brian both lazily turn to look at her. “The only candles I could find were my wax play candles.”

“Classic,” Clayton says. Jenna gives him an indecipherable look. Then they both look at Brian.

As much as Brian wants to try it– “There’s already a lot going on, so. Maybe not tonight.”

“Honestly, I’d be a little worried if you were down for both a surprise gangbang  _ and  _ a full wax-dripping submissive scene tonight,” Jenna says as casually as if she was checking the weather. Brian chuckles, pushing Pat’s hair out of his forehead. 

Clayton looks between them, conspiratorial. “Well, it’s not like we’re not experimenting. Using dungeon equipment for its intended use has to be a first.”

Pat squeezes Brian for a second before starting to roll off of him. “Yep,” he adds, clearly exhausted, and Brian pulls him in for one more filthy kiss before he stands up to put his pants back on.

“Enough,” Pat says, smiling. “It’s Jenna’s turn.”

-&-

Once Jenna gets the candles lit, it is, indeed, her turn. She chats quietly with Brian for a second, then strips out of her jeans with a practiced efficiency and knee-walks until she’s hovering over his face. It’s a little precarious with the raft of blankets in the center of the living room, but they get situated, and then Brian gets to cling to her for dear life. He can feel more than hear her relaxed exhale when he swipes his tongue along the inside of her thigh. 

It’s nice, once he’s fucked-out, to let Jenna gently manhandle him and take what she needs. Makes him feel useful. The deep, surrounding pressure of Jenna is grounding, and she’s wet when he dips his tongue inside her, cursing gleefully and falling forward to brace herself on the couch. He isn’t sure how long he spends eating her out – maybe five minutes, maybe ten – before there’s the soft snick of the door to the apartment opening.

Brian’s heart fucking pounds, hard enough that he’s worried he’s about to fall prey to anxiety. What if they’re being too loud? What if someone’s filming it, or doxxing them, or–

Instead, Jenna holds him down. She widens her eyes at him knowingly. The door shuts, and someone stomps their boots off on the carpet in the entryway.

“Do you trust us?” Jenna says. Brian nods, as best as he can. “Keep going.”

There’s not much that he can do in the way of deep breathing. When Brian tries to inhale through his nose, it’s cut through with the sharp, musky scent of Jenna, the humidity of the air between them. She tilts her hips back to give him a little more room. He uses the opportunity to nip at her clit, feeling himself get traitorously harder as someone crosses the room towards him. They undo their belt, clinking metal and the friction of the leather, and then settle between Brian’s legs. They’re tall, and broad, if the heaviness of their footfalls and their presence astride Brian’s hips is anything to go by.

Brian spreads his legs wider. The person groans.

“Heard you were down.” It’s an unmistakable voice: deep, velvety soft, a little nasal and dorky. Brian would know it anywhere. His pulse quickens even more, out of sheer anticipation. It’s been a while for them. Oh, fuck,  _ yeah _ .

Jenna sighs, lifts herself off of Brian’s face just slightly so that he can catch a breath.

“Well,” Brian starts, cut off by the wonderfully agonizing press of Jonah’s massive fucking dick into his body. “I  _ am _ pretty close to the floor.”

Jonah chuckles, sets his teeth to the meat of Brian’s pec. “That too.” He bottoms out, and Brian moans, shameless. His eyes water a little at the stretch, like a fucking walking cliche. 

God, the people who love him are  _ so  _ good to him.

“Hi,” Brian manages, peering around Jenna’s thigh to see Jonah’s stupid baby-face grinning back at him. “Missed you.”

Jonah fucks into him again, brutal and loving and  _ deep _ . “You just saw me earlier today.”

“You know what I mean,” Brian sasses, falling back into this rhythm. It’s been a while since they did this. Living together puts strain on any relationship. 

“So you missed my dick,” Jonah says, gravelly. When Brian looks up, Jenna’s fucking  _ grinning _ , wet and shiny where Brian just had his mouth on her. Seems like what he’s saying is having some effect on her, too.

“Honestly,” Brian answers, and gestures to Jenna to sink back down. “Yeah, I did.”

“Good,” Jonah says, low. He slings one of Brian’s legs up, big hands roaming over Brian’s torso, spanning his ribs, circling his wrists. Touching everywhere except his dick. God fucking damn it, this guy. “God, you’re fucking tight.”

Brian stutters where he’s circling Jenna’s slit with his tongue. It’s so much, being smothered with them. The pressure and presence is overwhelming; a heavy, crushing feeling, like he's completely held, has everything he could ever need, but also – can’t escape. Couldn’t, if he wanted to. 

He brings one of his hands up to press at Jenna’s cunt apologetically. He can’t fucking lose it now, not when he’s so close to the end. He’s been so good.

“Glad you could make it,” Jenna says, looking back over her shoulder. One of Jonah’s hands leaves Brian’s hips, coming into view as he traces up Jenna’s side to squeeze one of her breasts. She’s shaking now with the effort of keeping herself up. And like, Brian’s not a narcissist, but eating someone out is one of the best ways to have sex, and he’s fucking great at it – stamina, attention to detail, being eager to please. 

Jonah finds Brian’s prostate, making him moan against Jenna. She’s close. Her mouth is open wide, head tipped back slightly, flooding Brian’s mouth with the taste of her. “God, Jenna,” Jonah grates. Brian can imagine his little conspiratorial smile. He speeds up his fingers on her. “If I could go twice…”

Jenna goes still, crying out softly, curling in on herself. Brian presses the flat of his tongue to her cunt, working her through it, swallowing and swallowing and swallowing.

He’s never been a quitter.

Once she’s got her wits about her, Jenna gingerly slides down towards Brian’s waist, climbing to one side of his body. “Thank you,” she murmurs, and he lunges up to kiss her quick before she reaches for her clothes.

Brian barely has a second to breathe before Jonah pushes him up the blanket with a particularly hard thrust, and Brian aches all over again. Jonah reaches down to palm at Brian’s dick, and Brian lets the shocked noise escape him. Now that it’s just Jonah, he notices the ache in his jaw, how much of his face is covered in come. He must look like a mess.

“Jo,” Brian begs, pulling Jonah impossibly closer with a heel on Jonah’s lower back. “Please, please–”

“Okay,” Jonah soothes, kissing Brian’s forehead, jacking him off, and then there’s – another sound. Smaller, breathier, but unmistakable.

Brian turns his head to see Karen squirming on the couch, legs spread. Simone’s behind her, whispering something to her, working Karen over with deft motions of her fingers. 

Karen closes her eyes, struggling to keep her thighs open. Simone grins back at Brian. “She’s gonna come just from watching,” Simone says, and Jonah and Brian both groan in response. She tips her chin at Jonah, his hand still on Brian’s dick. “How does he feel?”

“Wet,” Jonah says, and Brian feels like he’s going to fucking burn, he’s so hot all over. “Did someone already–”

“Yeah,” Pat says from the other couch. 

Jonah grins. It would be sleazy, if he didn’t know how much it fucking  _ worked  _ for Brian. “Nice.”

Karen makes a muffled sound, this little  _ oh, oh _ that Brian knows like the back of his hand, and then he’s coming, too, shaking apart as Jonah keeps his pace, fucking into Brian’s body like he belongs there.

It’s – an overwhelming orgasm. Brian closes his eyes, feels it like a full-body shockwave, letting his head thrash. Jonah strokes over his hip soothingly, but doesn’t stop. He just waits until Brian moans brokenly, remembering to breathe again, before he slows down. 

“Jo,” Brian repeats. His eyelashes are stuck together with tears. It feels like he’s floating. “C’mon.”

With a few more strokes, ruthless and unrefined, Jonah’s stilling. He keeps a vice grip on Brian’s thighs as he adds to the mess, slicking Brian up even more. Brian knows he’ll have fingerprint-shaped bruises tomorrow. He can’t bring himself to do anything but smile about it.

Brian pulls Jonah down for a kiss. Jonah obliges. He always does.

Outside, in what feels like a different world, a plow rumbles by, scraping the street. Its soft beeping fades into the background like the flickering candlelight.

“Thank you,” Brian whispers. When he looks around the room, everyone’s looking back at him. Their eyes are soft. Full of love. Happy. “All of you.”

Pat slides down, kisses Jonah, then Brian, then looks around, too. “Anything you ask for,” he says honestly, “any time you want this, we’ll be here.”

Brian locks eyes with Karen, who also sinks to the floor and swipes a thumb through the mess on Brian’s cheek. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” Brian says, nuzzling like a cat into the touch. “Cookies?”

“You and Karen get cleaned up first,” Simone chimes in, wiping her hands off on her pants. “We’ll take care of the rest of it and bring everything out of the kitchen. There’s plenty to go around.”


End file.
